in blankets of red
by blank canvas of me
Summary: "Percy pressed his lips against Annabeth's moments later. They were warm, and when he finally pulled away, his own lips were stained with her blood. She blinked in response, closing her eyes as coughs wracked her body. The blanket of red buried her and she felt herself slipping away from her own body. Slipping away from Percy. All she can see is red." Character death.


**in blankets of red: **

All she can see is red.

When she was five, her father had gotten her a book. It had all the colors in it. Page by page, it showed pictures of what different colors were. She decided that she liked red best.

When she was six, she learned that if you mix orange and yellow together, it makes her favorite color.

When she was seven, she used a red crayon to write her father a note. A note that stated she was running away, vowing to never return.

When she was eight, she came to the realization that red was the color of blood. Obviously she already knew that, but it was only on the night that she entered Camp half-blood for the first time, that she finally saw that red meant pain. Her friend Thalia made a lot of red before she transformed into a pine tree. Not dead. Not living. Just stuck in the middle. Just like the red had stuck to her stomach.

When she was nine, she ate a strawberry from a field. It bled crimson. She realized that red might not be such a bad color after all.

When she was ten, she picked a rose. It was red. And when one of the pricks stabbed into her thumb, the liquid that drizzled down from it was red too.

When she was eleven, Luke had gotten her a red sweater. It was big and fluffy and fit her just right. And when Luke smiled after she thanked him, she couldn't help but see that his grin was as dry and strained as a shard of glass.

When she was twelve, it came to her that her cheeks could turn red as well. Often, when Luke was around. And occasionally, when her new friend Percy (who wasn't that intelligent) would smile lopsidedly at her. Blushing. Blushing. Blushing. That was what the daughters of Aphrodite called it, much to her disdain.

When she was thirteen, a blanket of red had swept over her. It hurt. It stung. She used to think that red was the color of strength, of determination, of courage. But maybe it was just the color to describe whenever someone cried out in agony or sheer-ridden terror. Then a fleece was draped over her, and a whisper of "you're a genius" and she decided that red was the color of maybe-almost love. A heart.

When she was fourteen, her muscles ached. They burned and spewed fire, like a dragon, only there wasn't one killing her. It was just her dying and her knees giving out as she sank to her defeat. Red would spray in her vision, like dye spilling over a photograph. Her eye-sight would blur and a ballerina made of red would dance along her grey eyes, causing the light to fade from them ever-so-slightly. And when she opened her eyes again, she saw green. She smiled, her cheeks heating up like fire. Only it was warm, not agonizing. While laying; collapsing on the bumpy rocks, she deducted that green was better than blue. It was a lot better than red.

When she was fifteen, all she saw was red. All the time. It wasn't physically painful, not like her suffering under the sky, but it made her enraged with...envy. Everyone said that green was the color of jealous. But, no. Oh, no. It was an angrily blistering red that burrowed deep under the blonde's tan skin, flaring up whenever she caught glimpse of a flash of fire-colored hair. And then the girl (she had caught her name, Rachel, but she was too stubborn and far too indignant to name her anything other than _mortal_.) She would spit out the m-word, always seeing Percy scowl over her hostility. How could he be so dense? Didn't he know that she was red with envy?

And when Annabeth Chase was sixteen-years-old, she was_ laid to sleep_ in blankets of red. She just saw it before- a flash of a blade. Percy's green eyes wide with nativity and brightness; she didn't want that fire to smolder. All her thoughts were _screaming _logically that he had the curse of Achilles. He was invincible. He would withstand anything. But she flung her body outward anyway. It pierced into her flesh. A gasp escaped through her cracked, dry lips as it sank into her stomach, deeper and deeper until it connected with bone. And she coughed. When she stared at her hand to look at it, the bronze was covered with spots of blood.

Percy yelled something that didn't reach her ears. His voice sounded red, raw, as if it burned to the touch. She didn't know. She didn't care. The red was slowly etching over her in a long blanket. Her eyes were rimmed with red. Her chin was covered in a sticky, warm substance. Her stomach was creating a river, just as Thalia's had done nine years ago. Memories flash over her eyes. Blue. Green. _Red_. Fire, books, crayons, roses, strawberries, sweaters, blood, pain, and finally... death.

Monsters still roared, but to Annabeth's ears, all was quiet. Percy picked her off the ground and tried to walk, but sunk to his knees, with the girl still cradled protectively in his arms. He was saying something, something about 'holding on', something about 'love', but the red was numbing everything out. She couldn't speak. She could only thrash in his arms as her chest shook with agony. D. So much of it. So much red. Percy shifted Annabeth in his arms, and the blanket of red followed. It was warm, but he was warmer. She buried her face in his shirt as he brushed away her blood-stained gold that hung below her shoulders in spirals, curls that were now tinted in crimson. Sweat. Sweat was red too. Cold.

"Lay me to sleep," she whispered in a hoarse voice before coughs wracked at her tiny-frame. "Lay me to sleep in blankets of red."

Percy seemed confused, but he nodded, stroking back her hair, completely oblivious to the battle around him. He pressed his lips against hers moments later. They were warm, and when Percy pulled away, his own lips were stained with her red. She blinked, closing her eyes as red surrounded her vision. The blanket buried her and Annabeth felt herself slipping away from her own body, slipping away from Percy.

Slipping away from red and slipping into darkness.

And when she was dead, there was no more red.

Nothing but gold.

* * *

**A/N: I wrote this for Annabeth's birthday, but thought it was terrible and never posted it. But I'm going to upload this now, even though it is utter garbage. So, happy late birthday Annabeth...I kinda killed you off. I could've gone a little deeper into this, but I think it's good because I don't over-write her thoughts down too much. It was going to be a poem, but I'm TERRIBLE at writing poems. My friends can back that up. The title is meant to be all lowercase. A lot of authors on fanfiction have been doing that, and although I'm terribly OCD with titles, I decided to try it too. Reviews are greatly appreciated! **


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